


i wanted this morning to give you roses

by sunflowerseed



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseed/pseuds/sunflowerseed
Summary: Arthur’s anger burns bright. Eames will tell anyone who’ll listen; save them the agony.





	i wanted this morning to give you roses

Arthur’s anger burns bright. Eames will tell anyone who’ll listen; save them the agony. 

He doesn’t know that there’s a wholly accurate way to describe it. To the untrained eye, the issue is often negligible but Eames (an expert in all things Arthur) knows better than anyone. It’s the sharpening of placid brown eyes and the stale affectation that permeates the air. There’s really nothing to be done once the man’s made up his mind. No amount of coffee or alcohol will restore the allegorical wound that has been gouged. Arthur will accept gifts of apology gladly but he has the recollection of an elephant, better even. 

At first, Eames’ initial reaction to altercations with Arthur is to maintain his distance. It is, in hindsight, the smartest thing he could’ve done when he knew very little about the man. When he could hardly decide what he thought Arthur might do as a result of his upset. The first fight (not including petty remarks and bickering, Arthur takes those with a grain of salt), the real first fight happens when they’re on a job in Chiang Mai. 

Eames is in top form; wearing his favourite thrifted offence, shooting the shit with their indelicate Brazilian chemist. Arthur is in one of his moods; a bolt at his desk, tie tightened to the point it could be mistaken for a contemporary noose. He’s mid-laugh when Arthur asks him about something he’s already forgotten and he makes a joke of it. Later, he’ll do it later. Arthur snaps. Brief but sharp. Eames tiptoes around him the rest of the day, tucks himself in a corner.

Eames’ tendency to maintain distance has declined over the years certainly given the evolution of their relationship. He’s more likely than ever to hash it out as soon he’s decided Arthur’s emerged from the clout of his anger. The last fight (the most recent fight), Arthur screams bloody murder at an extractor for letting Eames take a bullet topside for the sake of the job. He gives Eames the silent treatment, seeing as he’d been complicit in the plan to begin with, for going on two weeks. Eames shows up at his apartment in Silver Lake and knocks to no avail. The security is more lax than he would have expected and when he sneaks in by way of the back porch sliding door he almost doesn’t notice Arthur curled up under a blanket on the couch, the only thing visible from beneath it, his downy hair curled against his forehead. There’s a bin next to him filled to the brim with crumpled tissue and a tub of Vicks open on the coffee table. Eames tucks himself neatly into the space that Arthur’s left at the end of the couch and decides to catch himself a bit of shut-eye.

Arthur nudges him forcibly awake with a barefoot, his chin tucked above the line of the blankets, his nose rubbed raw red. What’re you doing here, his eyes say and Eames thinks maybe he’s lucked out. That his sickness has worn out his anger.

Eames catches his foot. ’ You could have called.’ He says pressing his thumb firmly into the arch of it.

This sort of flagrant vulnerability is something Arthur makes a point of shrouding.

He squirms, tries to pull his foot out of Eames’ grasp. ‘ I’m fine.’ He gripes.

‘You’re not still angry with me?’ 

Arthur stops fighting and watches intently as Eames pulls his foot up to his mouth, brushes his lips absently against the bump in his ankle. 

‘ Would you like for me to say I’m sorry?’ He says resting Arthur’s foot against his knee. ‘ I am.’ He says more quietly.

Arthur pushes himself up, the blanket folds at his waist, he reaches for him and Eames leans forward in accordance. His optimism hopes to be met with a kiss but the reality is: ‘ I swear to god, Eames. If you ever do that to me again-’ Arthur says, tired eyes flickering. ‘ Never again, Eames. I- never again.’

Eames agrees quietly.

‘ If anyone’s going to shoot you-‘ He continues, nails pressing half-moons into the back of Eames’ neck. ‘ it’s going to be me.’

He can feel the heat radiating off his waning figure. ‘ I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart. ’ He smiles through the pain. ‘ I’m sorry, but when was the last time you trimmed your fingernails.’. They spend the following night in hospital; Arthur, fever-stricken, Eames dotting. Then the next, Arthur curled up like a kitten under Eames' arm, breath hot against his side.


End file.
